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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26524678">Healer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pridecookies/pseuds/pridecookies'>pridecookies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>(femHawke x Anders One Shots) The Healer Has the Bloodiest Hands. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Funny, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pining, Pre-Relationship, i love my bisexual disasters, rest in peace karl, still in mourning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:35:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,093</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26524678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pridecookies/pseuds/pridecookies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke gives Anders a cat and an existential crisis, not in that order. Pour one out for Act I Anders, we hardly knew thee.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anders/Hawke (Dragon Age), Anders/Justice (Dragon Age), Bethany Hawke &amp; Female Hawke, Bethany Hawke/Female Hawke, Female Hawke/Varric Tethras, Hawke/Varric Tethras</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>(femHawke x Anders One Shots) The Healer Has the Bloodiest Hands. [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Healer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Look, I wanted to give my favorite problematic sewer apostate a cat, alright? Be right back, still mourning Act I Anders and my mage son Karl. Nah, but these kids are my OTP and I spice up my headcanon with the in-between moments so I figured I might as well write it down and share the intensity of my feelings with the internet.</p><p>My bisexual disasters are precious to me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>    There was a slight shift in the box and Hawke hoisted it under her arm. The cat, small and malnourished, had presented itself in the market that morning and it was almost like the Maker had brought him to her. With large green eyes and a pleading face, she couldn’t help but offer her hand out. Hawke wasn’t strong in her faith but there were little blessings in the chaos and cacophony of Kirkwall that made her wonder if there wasn’t some sort of benevolent force at play, a ledge to catch her before she careened into the abyss. Probably not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I know where you belong,” she had murmured to the creature as it approached her, it’s caramel fur dirtied and ratted. She would need to do her best to clean it before she brought it to it’s new master, if he would have it. It was frail and small and in need of a healing touch. Luckily, she knew where to find one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Ander’s clinic was busy, as it usually was. There was significant need for a healer and he was offering his services for free to anyone that needed them. In Kirkwall, it was one of the only places the poor and maligned could find any help. Today, there seemed to be an influx of patients, more refugees than she normally saw. A boat must have come in. Hawke stood by the opening of the clinic, the small box under her arm, calming the cat down as it purred and clawed at the corner of the box. She looked around the clinic. Beds, broken and old but clean, were lined with the sick. Hawke frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    There was a little boy sitting by the fire who looked exhausted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Are you alone?” she asked. He shook his head. “Where is your family?” The boy gestured to a woman sitting on a table. Anders was smiling at her, asking questions, gesturing to her head. Hawke watched for a moment, a familiar kind of warmth stirring in her skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>    I’ll break your heart</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he had said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    After Karl, something awakened in her and prompted Hawke toward a new kind of rage. Bethany was an apostate so she had always been wary of the Circle, but seeing Tranquility in person was a catalyst to a changed perspective. Stories she had heard about mages and their oppression became far more real to her now. When Anders had told her about Justice, when she challenged him on his choices, she saw the result of that conflict. It was unlike anything she had seen before, a white light from within the healer that peaked through his very being like cracks in a vase. His eyes, kind and brown and often riddled with worry, were overtaken by it. It both enthralled and frightened her. But, still she respected the man and what he was doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke fixated on him a moment. Anders was focused, intense, his brow furrowed as he raised his hands over the woman and closed his eyes, magic pooling around her as he did so. Hawke could tell the patient was nervous but that she trusted her adopted physician. He was helping her with a kind of acute tenderness that was so rarely offered in Kirkwall. There was a feeling, fragile and small but burning brighter, when Hawke felt her stomach sink in a familiar way. It usually was what happened when she started to give a damn about something because that was often accompanied by the loss of it. Fereldan, her father, her brother, her home. Everything that mattered had been ripped from her desperate fingers. It filled her with a cold dread that maybe this man, this runaway apostate with a strange story and a vague name, could matter. And she knew she inevitably would lose whatever happiness that brought her. It was the way of things. The healer glanced up at her, recognition on his face. She smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>    I’ll break your heart.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke turned to the boy, “Is that your mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He nodded, “Yes, that’s her.” The boy had a Fereldan accent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Are you a refugee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    The boy didn’t speak, he just nodded again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke set the box down, “Me too,” she murmured. “Do you want to see something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    His interest piqued, the boy slightly moved toward her. Hawke opened the box and the boy smiled at the sight of the cat. “Let him smell you first,” she coaxed. The boy held out his hand and the cat inched toward him. After a moment, she picked the cat up and placed him in the boy’s arms, purring softly. He sat up and winced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Bandages are a bit tight, that’s all. Here to get them changed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I can do that,” Hawke said and pulled over one of the empty beds, grabbing a mess of clean linen strips. “Lie down, then. I know how to change dressings. At least we can lessen some of the pressure while you wait for your mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    The boy obeyed, and fidgeted with hands while she looked at his legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “What’s your name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Logan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Hawke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Like the bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Like the bird. Are you from Fereldan too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Is it just you and your mom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “My father helped to fight the Darkspawn. He died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “My father died too,” Hawke said softly, loosening the boy’s bandages and releasing some of the tension in his legs. “I wish I could tell you it gets easier but sometimes it doesn’t. I don’t want to lie to you. That isn’t what friends do. You can be brave, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Logan nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Good. You will have to be brave for your mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I can do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I bet you can. Do you feel it tingling a little now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Yeah, is that bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “No, it’s because they were on too tightly. Your legs were swollen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Are you a healer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “No,” Hawke chuckled, “I am the </span>
  <em>
    <span>furthest </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing from a mage, practically a dwarf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Everyone is strange about mages here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Yes,” she darkened, “They are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “My mom is worried about me, she keeps me here most days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “In the clinic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “She goes to work and leaves me here with the healer. He’s helping me with--” Logan stopped and eyed her warily, “--he’s helping me with magic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Ah,” Hawke murmured, smiling at him, “My sister is a mage too, your secret is safe with me. Won’t tell a soul. You keep that to yourself though, Logan. No matter what you learn from the healer, you keep it to yourself. You can’t always trust people with that right now, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Alright, stand up. I think we’re fine here.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>    “You should feel less pain now,” Anders murmured, forcing himself to stand up straight. He was exhausted, he hadn’t slept, and he knew he needed to rest. But there was no end to the need. It was like fighting against the rising tide, you may inch forward but the strength of the sea will always be stronger. Regardless, inch forward he would. It did seem there was an anchorage in the storm, though. She walked into the clinic ten minutes ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Thank you,” the woman said, a soft smile on her dirtied face. He helped her to her feet and looked over to where Hawke was, talking to the boy he was mentoring. Judging by her family and what she had told him of her background, he thought she was close to his age, probably a few years younger. Even so, she had a vivacity that was more often present in children, until the decay of time and the present pains snuffed it out. Her compassion was moving, he had noticed it in the Chantry. After they had found Karl they had a moment to settle. It was difficult for him to process and Hawke had offered the kind of comfort usually reserved for an old friend. Yet here she was, bruised but not broken by the terrors of the Blight and willing to offer kindness to a stranger. Still, it was her response to Justice that intrigued him. Hawke was the first person in Kirkwall he had told about Justice, the story in its entirety. Something about her eyes, the look she gave him, prompted him to tell the truth. It reminded him of a Chantry sister he knew once. Hawke listened without judgement, without condoning or condemning him. She just listened. It was both exhilarating and arresting at once. Unfortunately, she was beautiful. That was problematic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Behind her, a boy approached with a tabby cat in his arms. Anders felt a little lighter at the sight of it. He really did love cats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Well,” he smiled, “Who is this?” he approached the boy, who held out the tabby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “He doesn’t have a name yet,” the boy said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I can help you with that, if you want,” Anders smirked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Oh, he isn’t mine,” the boy shrugged, “He’s yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    The mage frowned, “I don’t--” he started and the boy gestured to the opening of the clinic, where Hawke had been standing</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “A lady brought it for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Anders looked where the boy was pointing and he felt strangely energized, all fatigue fading into mere memory. Hawke was walking over, confident and steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I found him this morning, thought of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You thought of me,” he repeated. Hawke smirked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Well,” she flicked some hair out of her eyes, “I think it was within the first two sentences you spoke to me that you mentioned your Ser Pounce. It wasn’t really a leap, was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He was shocked she remembered that. Shocked, elated, and mildly terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Do you--” he started, and then there was a rush. A small group of elves were running into the clinic, carrying a boy. Hawke stepped back. “I’m sorry,” he said, refocusing his attention on the newest patient, “Thank you,” he said, stretching a hand out and touching hers for the briefest moment. “For the cat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke watched as all his attention was diverted to the boy. She was suddenly very aware of a trail of warmth on her fingers where he had touched her in a gesture of gratitude, a feeling etched into her skin. He listened to the ravings of the woman, calming her down. It was impressive, his grasp of magic. More so was his tireless determination to offer help to those that asked. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, couldn’t have had time to eat. Hawke silently cursed herself for not bringing anything. Walking toward the door, she paused for a moment and looked back at the mage.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>    I’ll break your heart</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>    “Varric,” Hawke smirked, “I am not saying you have a death wish,” she leaned into the dwarf, “but you very well might have a death wish. Maybe you like the </span>
  <em>
    <span>longing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The exquisite, dramatic pain of it all, the thrill of an epistolary romance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Varric laughed, his voice raspy and warm from long conversation and too many drinks, “I like a challenge and a good story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Bianca </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a challenge, among other things,” Hawke murmured into her glass, “You have that right, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Speaking of challenges,” Varric said, gesturing to the door. “Blondie’s here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke almost choked on her ale. Varric noticed and smirked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Anders was looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable, scanning the occupied tables of the Hanged Man. He spotted her and offered a kind of grateful, quiet smile. She returned it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Without thinking, she stood up to gesture for him to join them, knocking over their drinks. Her skill with both bow and blade was common knowledge at this point, it was unlike her to be so painfully clumsy. Anders grabbed a cloth from the bar and came over to help clean up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Ah,” Hawke laughed, “Sorry, Varric.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    The dwarf sat back with his hands in the air, “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> say I drink too much. Maybe it's a sign from the Maker himself. Cut back on the booze.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You do drink too much,” she said, taking the cloth and wiping the ale from her pants, “But I doubt the Maker has time to give much of a shit about it. He’s too busy ignoring us. Thanks,” she smiled at the healer and dried the last of the ale,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Your new friend is happy, I assume?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “He is. Settling in nicely,” he said, looking around the tavern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He brought his attention back to her. “Lord Pouncival,” he smirked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke snorted, “Yes, of course. Naturally.” She was aware that the smile on her face probably looked incredibly stupid. Blame it on the drinks. Anders cleared his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Thank you, Hawke,” he said in earnest. “It’s a great comfort. I don’t think you know how much it means to have him around the clinic now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I know exactly how much it means,” she countered, “That’s why I brought him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    The healer smiled at her, but it didn’t touch his eyes. They remained burdened in a way she had come to understand was normal for him. Still, in the chaos of the Hanged Man, surrounded by drunks and the baser impulses of what Kirkwall had to offer, on the bloodied floor and surrounded by a dank atmosphere, Hawke felt quiet inside. She hadn’t felt that kind of stillness since they fled Lothering and she found herself longing for it. </span>
</p><p><span>    “You want a drink?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Anders paused a moment, shifting, then he nodded. </span></p><p>
  <span>    “I’d like a drink with you, but Justice doesn’t let me.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>    Hawke had the kind of smile that was a rare sort: unapologetic, unafraid, and untamed. It wasn’t just a smile but a declaration of the expansiveness of her personality. It was forcing others to make room for her. Like a beacon, it either drew you to it or warned you to find another shore lest you crash upon the rocks and doom yourself entirely. Her hair, short and brown and wild, fell over her eyes in such a way that only intensified how full of life they were, framing them. Anders studied her face, every detail felt like freedom. They had been there for an hour or more listening to Varric’s stories, playing Wicked Grace, feeling the comfort of a warm fire and the welcoming chaos of the Hanged Man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “... the human, the elf and the dwarf walk into a bar--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Anders smirked, “The human says, ‘You’re lucky you’re so short, that hurt like mad’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Varric rolled his eyes, “You could have just stopped me, Blondie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, “Why waste a perfectly good setup?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Varric laughed, “Never trust the mage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You’ve been spending too much time with Fenris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke snorted, “He’s perfectly fine around my sister, you know,” she lifted a brow, “It may just be </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> he can’t stand. Poor man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Anders stiffened, “He seems to like you well enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    She took a long drink of her ale, “Yes, he certainly does,” she grinned, “as long as I keep my mouth shut about certain things he does. We get on well enough.” </span>
</p><p><span>    “And that doesn’t bother you?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Hawke, a little intoxicated, shrugged, “He says what he thinks and I like that.”</span></p><p>
  <span>    “Even if what he thinks is that mages should be forced to live in confinement?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Varric sighed and stood up, “That is my cue to leave. You crazy kids start talking shop and I make myself scarce. Goodnight, Hawke. Blondie,” he said and shoved off, ever so slightly waddling as he did so. Hawke watched him go with a satisfied smile on her face. She was definitely intoxicated. She turned back and gave Anders a knowing look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “If you expect me to apologize--” he started and she shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I don’t. You aren’t wrong. Maybe not great at reading the room,” she chuckled, leaning closer into the table and balancing her head on her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Maker, she was beautiful. Wild eyes, wild hair, wild smile. Yet, she herself was not. She was anchoring. Her presence was calming, it assured him that he was on the proper course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Anders began to feel that familiar pang in his stomach. It was strange, his thoughts would wander to her and his entire being felt like it was being dragged back from them. It wasn’t physically happening, but it was visceral all the same. Justice was a jealous sort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke was calming down a bit, starting to slow with the weight of the wine. She rested her head on her arm and gave him a sobered look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “It matters, you know,” she said, slightly slurred, “What you do. It matters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Her eyes were glassy but fixed on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Thank you,” he cleared his throat, “I appreciate that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    She yawned and he stood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “We should get you back home.”</span>
</p><p><span>    Hawke smiled, surprisingly alluringly, “You offering to walk me home?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Not offering,” he shook his head, “Informing. I am not letting you walk home alone. Besides, I have something for your sister, a book Bethany asked for.”</span></p><p>
  <span>    Hawke snorted, “Anders, the day we met I slaughtered Templars scarier than anything we would find on the street. Besides,” she stood and crossed her arms, “maybe I should be walking you home, Darktown isn’t any safer than Lowtown. And you’re something of a delicate sort, you mages. Dainty little hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Come on,” he said with a wry smile, “Take this ‘dainty little hand’ because you’re going to need help to walk straight.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>    Kirkwall was cold at night, but the chill didn’t lessen the usual smell of sewage and decay. Tonight wasn’t any different, but it bothered him less. Hawke was clinging to his arm, warm and pliable, with her head lobbed against his shoulder as she walked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I wish I had money,” she slurred and he chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Most people do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I do, sometimes. It would make things easier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Do you know what I would do with my money?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I would take my sister somewhere else, away from here, where apostates are safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Apostates aren’t safe anywhere, Hawke,” Anders said quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Safer</span>
  </em>
  <span> than here. Then I would give the rest to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He frowned, “Why would I need it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Not for yourself, you fool,” she snorted, “The clinic. For the refugees. We’ve been in Kirkwall for over a year and no one has done a damn thing for them except for you. That’s where the money could go. You could at least get somewhere to sit, or--” she looked around, “--some plants or a rug or maybe one of those nice statues of Andraste or a lute or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He stopped and shifted her in her position, attempting to register her slurred words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You wouldn’t take your family, leave Kirkwall?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I have reasons to stay,” she said softly, “Things I care about here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke shifted again, glancing up at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Why the lute?” he frowned, glancing at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Why not? I’m rich, it's free. Take the damn lute. Oh, shit--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He stopped her for a moment, concern in his voice whether he liked it or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke stood back from him, a little unstable at first, and waved her arm around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I cut myself earlier, I was using a whetstone. Looks like the bindings loosened. Shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You’re in luck,” he smirked and took her arm, “I happen to be a healer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Fancy that,” she teased and rolled up her sleeve. Underneath was a bandaged cut, bruised and not too deep, but bleeding through the linen. Anders frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You didn’t leave it alone, did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I forgot it was there,” she shrugged, “I was rubbing my arm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>forgot </span>
  </em>
  <span>a massive contusion on your arm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “There’s always some kind of painful thing in my life. You get used to it,” she said, rather matter of factly. He felt a sinking feeling in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I know,” he said softly, “I am sorry about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I told you already,” she said, looking straight at him now and sobered, “I’m a big girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He knew what she was talking about. She knew that he knew. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll break your heart, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he had told her. And he knew that he very well could. He returned his attention to her arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Here,” he murmured and summoned the magic that began to spill in waves of light over her, partially closing the cut and lessening the bruising. She smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You’re a good man to have around, Anders. Although,” she cocked her head, “I think you really just wanted to hold my hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Anders frowned, “You had a cut.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I did,” Hawke said, “You healed it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    She looked down, “And you’re still holding my hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He was. Quickly, he removed his hand from hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    She chuckled, “I didn’t ask you to stop,” she said but walked away from him, looking around, “Lowtown looks the same at night, no matter where you turn. Reminds me of Fereldan with its dead grass and dogshit. Gloriously brown.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “It needs more dogshit to be a perfect comparison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke burst into laughter and Anders studied her. She was an attractive woman, it was just an objective fact. She was strong from years of combat training and both her mother and sister shared similar classically pretty features. It must have been part of the Amell blood. When she came into the clinic for the first time, it was hard not to notice her. It was her eyes. Large and blue and brilliant and filled with that strong will and sarcastic charm that had endeared her so quickly to him, even in the wake of heartbreak and loss. It was easier to mourn Karl with her there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Again, there was the pull. It was both prompting him toward her and away from her. Pieces of him were pressing against the barrier, looking to break free and close the space between them. But, only pieces. There was still a force that dragged him backward, begging him to focus one what mattered most. Images lingered in his mind. Children being dragged from their parents, a barn on fire, a boy sitting alone in confinement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Justice did not forget. Justice did not desire. Justice did not relent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Anders took a deep breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Hawke,” he called out to her, “Come back. Wrong way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    She lazily walked over to where he was and smiled, “You’re good at taking care of people, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I suppose so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke gave him a sympathetic look and laid a hand on his shoulder, friendly and understanding, “Maybe let someone take care of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    She dropped her hand and walked away, leaving him unsteady in her wake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Maker knows you need it,” she called over her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>    When they arrived at Gamlen’s house, Hawke turned to him and leaned on the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Take care of that arm, will you?” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Is that an order?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “It might as well be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Still intoxicated and clearly exhausted, Hawke ran a hand in her hair, “If you wanted to kiss it better, you could give it a shot. Might make it heal faster. My mother said that was true when I was six and it seems like proper advice to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He almost choked on the air coming into his lungs. She was making this difficult. But, it was hard to refuse. He lifted a brow and took her hand, his eyes locked on hers, and very briefly kissed her arm and released it. Hawke gave him a look that could very well ruin his life if he wasn’t careful. She was approaching him now, dangerously close. Wonderfully close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I think you could do better than that,” she said softly, “Maybe I will just have to come by the clinic tomorrow to see you. Very serious injury. Must be tended to properly. Requires a more thorough examination,” she said, continuing to edge closer still. Anders frowned, his entire body tensing with her increasing proximity. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if she was going to kiss him or kill him. Hawke smirked, quickly brushed her lips against his cheek and lingered for a moment. He was so aware of every inch of her that it made him want to scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “By the way, healer,” he murmured in his ear, “your kiss was shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Then, she pulled away and shut the door in his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He suddenly realized that he never gave her the book for Bethany. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Anders lifted his fist to knock on the door, thought twice about it, walked away, came back, stared at the door. He wasn’t sure if he should just wait and give it to her tomorrow, if she came by. He hoped she would. But, she was drunk. It was possible she would not even remember to come by at all. Bethany had asked for the book, he wanted her to have it. It was best he knock on the door, give it to her quickly, and go home. He raised his fist again when the door opened in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I forgot the bo--” Hawke said and then frowned, “Oh, you’re still here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Yes,” Anders said, slowly lowering his fist, “I forgot to--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “The book,” Hawke smiled, and held out her hand, “I’ll take that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Before he could put himself in any more danger, he shoved the book in her hand and walked away quickly. Hawke gave him an amused look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, then,” she said, “Goodnight.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>    Hawke hobbled up the stairs with that same stupid smile slapped on her face. Running a hand through her hair and sobering up as much as possible, she knocked on Bethany’s door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke tossed the book on her sister’s bed. Bethany was sitting on the floor, working some sort of cloth into the creases of her staff and giving it a deep clean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I have a book for you,” Hawke said. Bethany glanced at her. “It’s from--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I know who it's from,” she teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke frowned, “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You have that look on your face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “This is my face, I don’t have a look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You absolutely have a look,” she smirked, “Besides, you’re loud when you have been drinking. How’s that arm of yours?” She snickered, “Do you want me to kiss it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “I really should stop drinking,” Hawke rolled her eyes. She got quiet for a moment and crossed her arms, “I have a look, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    "You do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “That’s--” she sighed, “--not great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Bethany looked at her thoughtfully, “It doesn’t have to be bad either, Sarah. It just is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    It was quiet for a moment, each sister lost in their own thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “He reminds me of father, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Yes,” Hawke said softly, “He does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Be careful there. I don’t think I need to tell you that, but I want to all the same. He feels like a good man to me but we don’t know anything about him, or what this spirit is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “You don’t need to tell me, Beth. I already know. Anyway,” she sighed and walked toward the door, resting her head on the frame, “It doesn’t matter. He’s a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “That’s probably for the best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    “Probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke left Bethany’s room and closed the door behind her. She sat there for a moment, in the dark of the hallway. Her mother and Gamlen were sleeping, Woosley was curled up in front of the fire and calm. All was peaceful and still, even if she was not. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>    The clinic was dark. Patients were there and sleeping soundly. Even if Kirkwall felt like it was on fire, he had hoped to make the clinic a place where mages and refugees felt safe. Lord Pouncival had been fed and was resting on top of his desk. He laid a hand on the cat and it purred in response, nuzzling against his fingers. He didn’t have Ser Pounce, but Hawke had remedied that hole in his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>    Hawke. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>    It was a problem he had not really considered. When he had offered himself to Justice, his focus was indomitable. In the years he spent at the Circle, he had known injustice intimately. It became a bedfellow when no one else was permitted to be. The day he was dragged from his home was etched into his memory so clearly it would never be removed. Time didn’t cause it to fade, it only heightened the feeling of powerlessness and heartache and grief that accompanied it. There were flashes, feelings, moments. The smell of burning hay, his mother screaming, the way they held his arms back as he struggled. There were memories like broken shards of glass cutting into his brain. Soft words spoken in the Circle garden, a smile after a successful prank, secret notes passed in libraries, a stolen kiss when no one was looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>    I’m so sorry, Karl.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>    Anders started to feel his body tense and his vision became darker and then, a blinding light. Choking back the violation, he tried to steady himself. It felt involuntary, an intrusion, and yet it wasn’t. There was no other voice in his head, only his own. All the same, when Justice desired a chance to speak he took it without mercy. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>    Hawke.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>    Justice became quiet and Anders leaned against the desk. He was so tired. Kirkwall was utterly exhausting, but sleep rarely came. It was good that he told her the truth, he knew that. She didn’t understand what she was asking, what she thought she wanted. She couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>    But she wants to.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>    Hawke was a good woman. There was so much potential there for her to help the mages of Kirkwall, the refugees of their blighted Fereldan. He knew there was also the potential for something he had never thought to find: a partner that looked beyond the chaos in his head and the duality of his spirit and offered a steadying hand. Hawke was the calming voice that called out to the pieces of his spirit that he buried in Amaranthine and brought them back to the surface where they could feel the comfort of daylight again. But he couldn’t do that to her. When he said he would break her heart, for once in his life he was not being dramatic. He knew he would. She didn’t deserve to be second but she couldn’t be first. Hawke was something he couldn’t take, even if she was offering. It would be wrong. She would regret it and he would regret allowing it and it would end in ruin as things so often did when he touched them.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>    Maybe it won’t. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>    No, it was better this way. She was better this way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    Lord Pouncival interrupted his thoughts with another comforting purr and he took a deep breath. Anders should never have come to Kirkwall. </span>
</p>
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